


The Honest Truth

by idelthoughts



Series: Mortinez Fics [3]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: 1x17, Alternate Ending, Angst, Gen, Reveal, The Big Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jo said anything, before Henry didn't get another chance, he told her what he could.  The mercy of her friendship was his only way out of this.  Maybe she'd give him a head start before the truth of his falsified past went any further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Honest Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vintageteaparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintageteaparty/gifts).



> An episode 1x17 alternate ending. In the morgue, after Jo shows up with the email from the computer crimes agent, instead of Jo interrupting Henry with the revelations of his Oxford degree, Henry finished that sentence that started with, “Before you go any further…” This is one reveal that definitely could have gone better. Or worse. Well, they figure it out in the end.
> 
> For [mystoryisalongone](http://mystoryisalongone.tumblr.com/), originally published [on my tumblr](http://truthisademurelady.tumblr.com/post/117615502490/untitled-so-far-1x17-social-engineering), but spruced up a bit since then.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Henry.  This whole grave digging business?  Your degree from Guam?”

Henry’s blood rushed in his ears at the accusing tone in her voice.  But she was here, and not with Lieutenant Reece, and not with the HR department, or security, and so there was still a chance.  She’d stood in his basement once before and told him that, as a friend, she’d give him a chance to explain, even while he clutched a bloodied murder weapon in his fist looking guilty as hell.  Surely she’d give him a chance now.  All he needed was a head start before she told anyone.  

He turned to face her and she lifted her eyebrows, prompting his response.

“Before you go any further,” he said, his voice unsteady, and when she drew a breath to speak he held up his hand to forestall her.  If he didn’t get this out, he might not have another chance.  “I know I lied about my history, but I promise you, I’m not a criminal.”

Jo’s mouth sagged open for a moment, and then she closed it, brow wrinkling as she stared at him.  His knees felt like they were going to give, and so he sat in the chair next to the desk, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment, uncertain how to continue.

“I meant no harm to anyone here,” he said, and he finally turned his gaze to her again.  “I needed a new start, and this seemed the best way.  My documents may be forged, but I _am_ a trained doctor, and my name truly is Henry Morgan.  I didn’t lie about those things, Jo.  Please believe me.”

Jo looked at the phone in her hand, at the damning email there, then tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans slowly.  When she returned her gaze to him she was stony and pale, her mouth set with concern.  

“Henry, I think you and I should take a walk.”

His stomach flipped.  He stood from his chair and held up his hands to her, palms out, trying to placate her.

“Jo, just let me go, and I won’t trouble any of you again.”

“Henry—“  Jo’s expression collapsed into worry and fear.  “Henry, we are going to go somewhere else, and sit down, and you are going to explain it to me, okay?  Just take a deep breath and calm down.”

Henry's hands were visibly shaking as he held them up.  He quickly lowered them to his sides and clenched them into fists.  He was panicking, and that wasn’t going to do him any good.  He had to think—he should call Abe before he spoke to Jo, give him the alert to pack and prep their departure, which meant excusing himself long enough to make a phone call.

“I’ll grab my coat,” Henry said.  He turned from her, but started when Jo caught hold of his wrist.

“Why am I getting the feeling that the minute I take my eyes of you, you’re going to disappear?”

“I won’t,” he lied.  Or, not a lie for now.  “I’ll get my coat and we’ll talk.”

But she followed him into his office, trailing him closely and watching him with a heavy gaze that burned a hole through his back.  He pulled on his coat and scarf, then glanced to the phone on his desk.

“I should call Abe and tell him I’ll be home late.”

“Sure.”  She sat in the chair opposite his desk and folded her arms to wait.

Henry slipped into his office chair, picking up the phone under her monitoring.  It felt like shackles were closing around his wrists already, and he wanted nothing more than to dash from the office and start running.  At his first opportunity, he would run as fast and as far as his passport would take him.  If Jo had this information, others would too—if not immediately, then soon.  The mercy of her friendship was his only way out of this.  Even so, he dialled the phone, because there was little time to waste.  An extra hour could make the difference.  Abe answered on the second ring.

“Hello Abe,”  Henry said.

“Hey Henry,”  Abe said.  “What’s up, working late?”

“Something like that,” Henry said.  “I’ll be a while, but hopefully back before too late.”  He glanced at Jo and her unreadable expression, and then took a deep breath.  “Keep the kettle warm for me.”

Abe was silent, and then blew out a noisy breath.

“Ok.”  He knew the familiar words—spoken before, worked out in advance after the last hasty departure in their lives.  “Henry, what happened?”

“Have a good evening, Abe.”

“Sure.  Alright, take care.  Get home when you can.  I’ll be ready to go.”

“Mm-hm,”  Henry said lightly, and hung up the phone.

Jo stood and moved around his desk.  She perched on the corner, looking down at him.

“You guys have a phone code?  Must be a hell of a thing you’re running from, Henry.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”  

His voice wobbled, his denial pointless.  Of course she would know—a trained detective, with hostage negotiation skills and her own phone codes with her partner, would spot something amiss, any random words in this situation meaningful.  He leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and covered his eyes, trying to collect himself.  If only his blasted _hands_ would stop shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Can we talk about this now?”  Jo asked.  Henry looked up at her, his chest tight and seizing, at the soft tone, the worry.  “So you’re not a criminal.  Okay.  If you can tell me about it, maybe I can understand.  Do you need help?”

“You can’t help me.”  He looked up at her, imploring.  “But you can let me leave.  Turn a blind eye, let me walk out of here.  I promise you, I won’t do anything that would jeopardize your career or your integrity.  No one need know.”

She inspected him for long enough that he let himself hope she might agree.  Instead she bit her lip and folded her arms tightly.

“Henry—do you _want_ to leave your life here?”

He most decidedly did not.  He shook his head.  

“Then come on.  Let’s go.”

With reluctant steps, he followed her out of the morgue to the street and into her car.  She pulled into traffic.

“Where are we going?” he asked.  They were driving away from the precinct headed south, and he couldn’t determine her plan.  He wasn’t in an interrogation room, at least.  

“I thought we should go see Abe.  I’m guessing he’s freaking out right now.”

“Yes.  He’ll be packing.”  No reason to pretend otherwise—she’d see as soon as they walked into the store.

“When I came that day and you had the knife, when you had your bags packed, the passports—that was about this, wasn’t it?”

“Largely, yes.  I can’t afford anyone looking too close.  When I realized my stalker was setting me up, I knew my false history wouldn’t stand up to a murder investigation.”  He waved a hand towards her.  “As evidenced by this situation. Six years is not enough to base an identity on.”

“Six years.” Jo’s eyebrows raised, and she sucked in a breath. “And before that?”

“I can’t tell you, Jo.  I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Jo waited a moment longer before her tight shoulders lowered. She glanced in the rearview mirror, changing lanes smoothly, taking them ever closer to the shop.

“Okay then, let’s go see Abe.”

 

***

 

Jo felt like she’d accidentally fallen into a pit, dark and inexplicable, and she was completely unable to get out of it. What she thought was a weird bit of trivia to hold over Henry’s head—because who hid a degree from _Oxford_ , that would have been so like him—had turned into a bizarre nightmare.

The whole car ride, Henry was stiff as a board, fingers tapping on the door like he would fling it open and roll out just to get away. She’d not-so-subtly locked the car door after a while, which had made Henry send an alarmed look her way. He didn’t object, and she didn’t need to explain, but it was clear Henry was petrified—and she couldn’t tell if it was of the situation or of her.

She wasn’t sure what she’d find when they made it to Henry’s, but she followed him into the store close behind. She’d keep her mouth shut, try to gather as much information as she could, then corner Henry and put the pressure on him to really talk.  Whatever was going on, she wasn’t going to walk away from it as he’d asked.

Henry needed help, that much was clear.  The problem was whether or not she could help him. Or, whether he’d let her.

Witness protection, maybe?  Did this have something to do with his absent wife?  So many possibilities were running through her head, including bizarre things like Henry being a scientist with the British government pursued by MI6.  None of her speculation painted him as a criminal.  Even with Henry’s mysteriously impassioned plea that he wasn’t—and that his name really was Henry Morgan, and she didn’t even know where to begin with that one—he didn’t give her that impression.  

“Abe?”

“You were fast,”  came the reply, and Abe hustled around the corner clutching a stack of books.  “I’m hitting the lock box next, the photos are—oh.  Jo, hi.”

“Hi, Abe.”  

She scanned the shop.  Nothing had been touched.  It looked like they were planning on grabbing a couple bags and going, and leaving the rest of it all behind.  What could set two settled men running this fast and light?  What did Henry think she’d find if she went looking?

Henry swivelled around to her, his expression desperate.  

“Jo, what are you going to do?”

She had no idea.  So, she was going to dig in her heels and wait until she had enough information to decide. She strode past him towards the chair at Abe’s desk, pulled it out and sat, crossing her arms.

“I’m going to sit here until you tell me what’s going on.”

Henry wrung his hands together, turning away from her in agitation and starting to pace the shop.  Behind her, Abe cleared his throat.  

“Someone want to tell _me_ what’s going on?”

“Long story short, someone made good on the threat to expose my records,”  Henry said, looping around the table and coming back towards them.

He gazed at Jo in utter defeat.  She obviously wasn’t going to get it from him, so she turned to Abe.

“I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on here.  Are you both in trouble, or is it just Henry?”

Abe frowned at her, then set the books on the desk, leaning on the stack of them and putting his other hand on his hip.  

“In trouble?  What trouble?”

“I don’t know.  Henry says he appears on the books six years ago.  That’s all I’ve managed to get out of him.”

“Hm.”  Abe shifted his attention back to Henry.  “Henry, why don’t you just tell her the truth?”

“Abraham, please!” Henry cried, throwing his hands wide in desperation.  “How is that a solution?  Like this?  No, it will only make things worse.”

“Worse than what Jo’s probably thinking right now?  I doubt it.”

“Um, still here, guys,”  Jo threw in, raising her hand to wave it between the two of them bickering back and forth like an old couple.  “Someone start talking.”

Abe gestured to Henry, but Henry shook his head.

“I can’t.  I just can’t.”

“You have to, Henry. It’s long past time someone knew.”

Abe’s words were quiet and sure, and like the time in Henry’s basement, him clutching a knife and trying to speak to her, Abe’s words pushed him towards the edge, and she could see him waffling indecisively.  She wondered what power Abe had over him that it could influence Henry so.

“Henry,” she said quietly, and she stood. Henry watched her approach, his body leaning back, as though he’d step away from her. But he didn’t, he held his ground, cautious but listening. “Whatever it is, I’m your friend. You can tell me the truth.”

He looked between them, and she could see Abe nodding encouragingly from the corner of her eye. He was on her side, and that was reassuring. That meant that whatever it was, it probably wasn’t illegal—because if that was the case, she’d have a hell of a quandary about what to do.

Henry fidgeted for another few seconds before he nodded once sharply, casting his gaze over towards Abe.

“Fine, I’ll try.  But not here.  Let’s go upstairs.”

He walked between them and hustled to the stairs, not waiting for either of them, his footsteps pounding rapidly upwards and away.  Jo rose to follow, but Abe waylaid her with a hand on her shoulder.

“When he tells you, hear him out.  Try to keep an open mind.  It’s not going to be easy.  For him, or for you.  But he’s taking a chance on you, so… So don’t let him down.”

Abe held her eye for a long moment, and Jo nodded, her mouth dry.  Abe seemed to find that enough, and ushered her up the stairs to where Henry was waiting.  

Henry was obviously at his wit’s end, his hair a wild mess from the fingers he was running through it, and he’d abandoned his jacket on the back of the sofa, his collar and tie yanked loose.  Abe sighed heavily behind her with a soft “ah geez,” and then with a gentle hand on her back urged her towards the living room.

“Come on, let’s put him out of his misery.”

“Can I get a hint first?” she said quietly to Abe under her breath.

“It’s his story,” Abe said.  “In the end, it’s down to him.”  He cleared his throat and spoke louder.  “Unless you want me to tell her, Henry.”

Henry shot him a baleful look, and then turning to Jo, softened and relaxed a bit.

“I’m sorry for the dramatics, Jo.  Other than Abe and—well, and my stalker—I haven’t spoken of this with anyone in decades.”

Jo sat on the edge of the sofa gingerly, and Henry came to sit beside her.  Good start, then.  He was showing some trust in her.  

“I thought you said this started six years ago?”

Henry chuckled quietly.

“No, no.  It started much before that.”  He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye.  “1814, to be exact.”

Jo darted a quick look at Abe, who was now sitting opposite them in the armchair.  He nodded, and she remembered his words.  Try to listen and hear Henry out.  Okay, she could do that.  She returned her attention to Henry, who was watching her carefully.

“Alright, 1814.  What happened then?”

“I died.”

She blinked, looking at Abe again.  She wasn’t sure what to make of the two of them right now.  It didn’t feel like she was being played, but she was still completely in the dark, and the pit felt like it was only getting deeper.

“Okay,” she drawled slowly.  “You…died.”

“I was shot.”

The tone of his voice echoed the brief almost-confession of months ago, shared over the table at McSorley’s.  After her brief glance at his chest and the scar hidden behind layers of clothes, Henry’s small nod was confirmation that yes, he was speaking of the same thing.  She’d thought of it often, wondered if he’d ever bring it up again.  He’d said he wanted to tell her, that he would tell her, but hadn’t said anything. Was this it?  

What the hell _was_ this?

“Since then, I haven’t been able to die permanently.  I—I reappear, exactly as I was in that moment.  I haven’t aged since then.”

“‘Then’ being 1814.”  Jo parroted back the nonsense date.  Henry nodded, and Jo checked Abe’s expression again.  He was starting to look worried, and she couldn’t blame him.  She was worried herself.  “So, you’re…”

“Immortal.”  Henry wiped a hand over his damp eyes.  “Since I don’t age, I move every so often to start a new life, or people start to notice, which—well, let’s just say that never works out well.  Consequently, false documentation is required now and again.  Six years ago I moved back to New York to begin another new life.  I mean no one any harm.  I only want to live my life in peace.”  Henry’s voice cracked.  He cut himself off abruptly and turned his face from her, his fist knocking against the top of his thigh in an agitated beat.  “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Jo wasn’t quite sure what to say.  How did you listen to your friend and colleague start spouting sci-fi nonsense after exposing his entire life as a paper construct and just take it?  What was the proper response in a situation like this?

“Jo,” Henry prompted softly, and she focused on him again.  “Please, I’m telling you this in absolute good faith.  The only crime I’ve committed is falsifying documents, and that only because I can’t possibly present a legitimate birth record.  At times it’s necessary.  But I’ve been a doctor for over two hundred years, I’m not a charlatan.”

Jo looked to Abe for help.  She’d often thought of him as the sensible one who kept Henry grounded, seemingly more in this world than Henry was, but right now he was no help in deflating the weird fantasy that Henry was constructing.  If anything, he looked deeply invested in Jo buying this story.

“So what, are you immortal too?”  she asked Abe, dry sarcasm seeping into her voice despite her attempts to keep this all neutral.  The entire conversation felt like a bomb about to go off.

Abe smiled and crossed his arms, shaking his head.  

“Nope, regular joe like you.”

“So how come you’re both taking off then?”

Abe checked with Henry, and from the corner of her eye she saw Henry nod, as though giving him permission.  Abe scratched his head with a finger, choosing his words.

“Well, we stick together when we can.  He’s my dad.  Not gonna let him do something like this on his own.”

She was starting to feel like she was a spectator in a tennis match, her head snapping back towards Henry, who was gazing at Abe with a warm—what, _paternal?_ —expression.

“Thank you, Abe.  Though Jo does have a point, there’s no reason for you to come with me.  Not in this case.”

Dad.   _Dad_?  Had she just heard that?  She’d had her suspicions that Abe was Henry’s father, but no, he’d quite clearly said Henry was _his_ dad.

“Well, I’m kind of hoping there’s no reason for you to go either,”  Abe shot back, and he turned his attention to Jo, sitting back down in the armchair.  “So what do you say?  You gonna give Henry a pass, or does he need to leave town again?”

She suddenly felt like a bug under the inspection of them both.  She stood and walked away, needing a little space, trying to think of what to do.  Did they really expect her to buy this?  They were both so damned serious.  She’d hoped for the truth, half-expected a cover story, but this was wild.  Too wild, and too strange.

“Jo?”  Behind her, Henry leapt off the couch to follow, catching her arm.  Fear was coming off him like steam.  “Please, what are you going to do?”

Was he insane?  Was Abe was enabling this fantasy?  Were they _both_ insane?

“Henry, are you sure this is what you want to tell me?” she asked pointedly, giving him an opening to take them back towards the truth.  “Nothing else?”  Henry released her and backed off a step, and she followed him, not letting him get away.  “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, you don’t have to lie to me.  I’m your friend, and I’ll understand if you—“

“This was a mistake,” he blurted, cutting her off.  To Abe, he repeated, “This was a mistake.”

“Henry, come on, give it time, you haven’t—” Abe started, but Henry, gone frighteningly pale, was already starting for the stairs.  “Hey, where are you going?”

“Downstairs,” came the unhelpful reply, and then he was gone.

“For god’s sake, Henry!  Get back here!”

But Henry was already to the bottom, and Jo wasn’t sure if she should follow him or not.  His and Abe’s passports were lying on the kitchen table, and she didn’t think he’d make a dash for it without it, because it sounded like he was intent on heading pretty far, but even so…

“He’s not lying to you,” Abe said, interrupting her whirring thoughts.

“Abe, come on.  What is really going on here?”

“He’s telling you the truth, Jo.  Give him a bit to cool off and he can explain it better.  He’s immortal.  Been kicking around for centuries now.”

“Right, and he’s your dad,” she scoffed, starting to feel her temper rising.  She had no patience for this.  She turned to go down the stairs, ignoring Abe hustling after her, and set off in pursuit of Henry.

He wasn’t hard to find, in the midst of tearing things from his desk drawer to put them in a bag.

“Henry, stop.  You’re not going anywhere.”

“Planning to arrest me, Detective?”  Henry was tense, his movements jerky and sharp.  “What charges will you use?  Fraud?  Malpractice?”

“Stop it.  Hold still for a minute and just—just _stop_ , okay?”  Jo snatched the books from his hands and slammed them onto the desk.  Henry shied back from her, startled, then set his jaw stubbornly, shaking his head.

“I have spent far too much time on the inside of padded cells with so-called _doctors_ trying to disabuse me of my reality.” Henry stabbed a finger against his desk.  “I have been experimented on until I’ve near lost my mind, and killed for curiosity and amusement.  I will _not_ let it happen again.”  Henry’s voice shook as he spoke, his lips thin and white as he pressed them together afterwards, trembling as he faced her, as determined as he was scared.

“My god, Henry, what _happened_ to you?”  Jo was struck by Henry’s intense fear.  She took a step towards him.  “Why do you think I would hurt you?”

“No—no, I don’t…” Henry started, drawing back, the anger and fear falling away to confusion.  “I don’t think you’d do that.”  He looked down at the array of items strewn on his desk.  He collapsed into his chair, rested his elbows on his desk and covered his face.  “I’m sorry, Jo.  I don’t mean to accuse you of anything.  I’m afraid that people in the past have not been quite so…”

She came close, sitting on the edge of the desk.  She nearly reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but given the tension he was radiating, she thought best not to.  

“So what?”

He dropped his hands and studied her, and then spoke quietly.  

“There’s no end to the creativity people can muster when trying to study a man who can’t die.   I won’t take risks anymore, I’ve had enough time to learn my lessons.  Even the best of intentions inevitably sour when my immortality comes into play.  So forgive me my suspicion, but several centuries of experience are not easily set aside.”

“Your immortality, right.”  His calm delivery was so eerie.  Jo chewed at the inside of her cheek, contemplating her next action as Henry slumped back in his desk chair.

“I recognize I’ve given you no evidence.  I can’t blame you for your skepticism.”  He stood, then took a deep breath, once more determined as he faced her.  “I could show you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could die and reappear.”

“Oh my god—no!”  But his stance didn’t change, the offer was still hanging in the air, and she had terrifying images of Walker running through her head, his immortal delusions, and wondered if somehow this had all affected Henry more than she’d ever realized.  But even that didn’t account for Abe, and what Henry had said about his records.  None of this was making sense, and she could feel tears coming as she ran in frustrated circles, no clear path presenting itself.  She sniffed, holding it back, trying to calm herself.  “Henry, no. That is—no, definitely not a solution.”

Henry looked away from her.  After a moment of silence, he began again the task of shoving things into his satchel.  He had the air of a man walking to the gallows, and she didn’t know what to do anymore, watching him work.  

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” he said.  “I didn’t want this for our friendship. I’ve enjoyed your company, and your trust.  I’m sorry to have damaged that.”

“You haven’t.”

He laughed faintly, closing the bag and buckling it.  He gave her his full attention, peering at her carefully, making sure he had hers in return.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you even remotely believe a single word I’ve said.”  

He waited patiently, staring at her until Jo couldn’t look at him any longer.  She looked down at the floor instead, strangely guilty that she couldn’t say she believed him.  She shouldn’t feel guilty, should she, for not being able to take seriously something so ludicrous and insane?  Henry sighed loudly, and she heard him put the satchel over his shoulder.

“As I said, I have.  And I’m sorry. If I could erase what I’ve said, I would.”

Henry started for the stairs, and Jo startled out of her confusion.  She hurried to him, catching his arm and stopping him, putting herself between him and the stairs.

“Henry, what are you going to do?”

It was obvious what he was going to do—he was going to leave.  Skip town like the criminal he said he wasn’t.

“Jo,” he started, then rubbed his hand over his eyes before trying again.  “If the holes in my past are starting to come out, I can’t—“

“They don’t exist,” she cut him off.  She rooted in her pocket, pulling out her phone and swiping the screen to unlock it, which still showed the stupid email that had started all this in the first place.  She closed it, finding the records she’d pulled up on him instead. She brandished the phone at him, realizing only as she tried to show it to him that her hand was shaking with all the pent up anxiety.  “Look, look at this.  It’s—it’s fine.  It’s normal.  There’s nothing suspicious or wrong with it, your record is fine.  You don’t have to go, there’s no reason you have to—”

“What are you talking about?” he interrupted her, taking hold of her wrist to steady the phone she was waving in his face. He pulled it from her hand, scanning the personnel file that she’d requested from HR, all with supporting documents attached. Everything in order, ducks in a row.

“You know what I found?  That you graduated from Oxford with top marks.  That you haven’t been a grave digger at all, that you were working in a prestigious London research and development lab before transferring here.”

“I—I don’t understand,” Henry said, shaking his head in confusion as he read on.  “That’s not what I…  How is this possible?”

The game was over, and she’d caved before Henry, which she’d not seen coming, but she didn’t want him to leave. She wasn’t sure if it was possible to change his mind now, but damned if she wasn’t going to try.

“Whatever you’re hiding, Henry, it’s hidden. I meant what I said, I’m your friend, okay? I don’t understand why you’re saying this stuff, and it’s not that I don’t want to listen, but you’re…it’s not…”

Henry’s expression softened as she rambled away until she ran out of air and sucked in another deep breath, focusing on not breaking down into tears.  Henry let the bag slip from his shoulder and set it on the ground, took a step towards her and gently pulled her into a hug.

“Henry,” she said, and she was embarrassed to realize it was more of a sob than anything else.  “Henry, what is going on?”

“Shh, it’s alright.  Jo, it’s alright.”

“It’s not alright.”  She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him, holding him like he might try to run.  “I want to believe you, but I don’t understand this, I don’t know what to do, what to think.”

Henry’s body shuddered in her grasp, and she realized he was weeping.  It was too much.  This was all far too much.  

“I’m sorry, Jo.”

He let her hold him for some time, the two of them standing there trying to calm down.  Eventually the creak of the floorboards above them brought their attention out of the temporary silent peace they’d fallen into and Henry pulled away from her, hastily wiping his face before looking up the stairs.

Abe came down into view, his face pinched with worry.  He had a book in his hands, and he gestured towards them with it.

“I—ah, I didn’t want to interrupt, but…”  He came down the last few steps and handed the book to Henry.  “I thought this might be a good place to start.  You know, before we get to things like lethal injection.”

Jo swiped away running eye makeup, trying to regain her composure.  One good deep breath, then another, and she felt a little steadier.  She was going to pretend she hadn’t heard that, because she had nowhere to file that particular statement that made any sense. Abe’s concern radiated from him, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly before gesturing to the stairs.

“I put some water on for tea.”  He jerked a thumb upward.  “Or there’s some good scotch.  You know, whatever we need here.”  

Henry looked to Jo, checking for her reaction, his thumbs rubbing nervously over the cover of the book in his hands, an unspoken question hovering.

Jo nodded, and turned to go up the stairs.  She’d stay, and she’d listen. The story was begun, and there was no leaving now. Behind her, she heard Abe’s hushed gravelly voice.

“You doing okay, Pops?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said in response. “I think someone may have altered my information.  I’m a little confused on the details myself, quite honestly.”

Their footsteps followed behind her.

 

***

 

Henry was drunk.  There was no denying it, he’d purposefully drunk himself into a near stupor in an attempt to dampen his fear and worry.  He’d not done that in a long time, since it had been the only crutch that got him through the long year after Abigail left him.  With every page turned in the stack of photo albums that stretched the years of his long life, with every further minute of Jo’s heavy silence, Henry took another sip, until he didn’t care anymore.  

He could hear Abe and Jo talking, but he’d long since given up trying to follow the thread of the conversation.  Perhaps not the wisest move, leaving himself vulnerable like this, but he was fairly certain Abe wouldn’t let him be hauled off to jail or the asylum on his watch.  Nor did Jo seem intent on either move.

Honestly, he had no idea _what_ she thought.  Or, more to the point, what she was going to do.  

“Henry?”

He grunted, and a hand shook his shoulder.  He lifted his head from where he’d propped it up on his hand and opened his eyes.  Abe was hovering over him.

“Yes, Abraham?”

“I’m going to go to bed.  You kids have fun.”

“Fun,”  Henry scoffed, not amused by Abe’s flippancy.  “Right. It’s a veritable party.”

Abe chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.  He straightened to go, and Henry was keen enough to note the unsteady shuffle.  Henry wasn’t the only one who’d had a fair bit to drink tonight.

The couch cushions shifted, and next to him Jo leaned forward to set one of the albums on the coffee table in front of them.  She leaned back and settled with a sigh, slouching down until her head rested on the back.

“Are you doing alright?”  Henry asked.

“What do you think?”  She rolled her head to look at him.  Her makeup was streaked from tears—two bouts so far, though she’d fiercely worked to hide them both—and her eyes were drooping with fatigue and alcohol.  “Apparently my partner’s un-aging, immortal, a dad, a widower, died more times than he can count, and rode on the Titanic.”

“Oh, he told you about the bloody _Titanic_?”  Henry groaned, slouching down and matching Jo’s posture.  “Do you have any idea how many times he made me tell him that story as a child?  ‘Daddy, tell me about the icebergs again.’  I swear he didn’t even care about my death or the ship sinking, he just wanted to hear about the icebergs.”

Jo was silent, and he looked over at her, remembering far too late that this was not in fact the point of what she had said, and terribly inappropriate given her recent stuttering fear.  She stared at him staring back, the moment frozen, him too startled to even apologize and beg her forgiveness.

A short laugh escaped her, then snickering, until suddenly she was howling, eyes squeezed closed and holding her stomach as she squealed with mirth.  

Her laughter was catching, and he laughed until he had tears in his eyes, until he thought he might be sick with it, until there was no breath left in him and he had to gulp to catch it.  Jo curled into his side, her laughter shaking her whole body.

He put an arm around her and hugged her close, heedless of anything but the need to have her near him, to seize the temporary moment of her relaxed and unguarded joy and cling to it.  She went willingly, putting her arms around his torso.  He was exhausted and sleepy, his head spinning, and rather than fight it, he sunk into it, holding her as tight as he could.

“What the hell, Henry,” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “You really are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

She wasn’t trying to escape him, or argue with him, and only hugged him tighter in response to his chuckled agreement. He was well-cushioned against the sting of such words by several generous glasses of scotch—and it wasn’t as though she were wrong.

They settled, slumped together in a pile, shuffling until they were laying on the couch together.  It was easier than he could have ever imagined.  Jo, kind and caring as she was—he could never have foreseen her like this, shoes kicked off, dark hair across the blue of his dress shirt as she laid her head on his shoulder, arm across his chest.  Her feet were shifting against each other, a nervous tic of some kind, the only clue to the thoughts rolling through her head.

“You’re really immortal, aren’t you?”  Jo asked eventually.

“Mm-hm.”  Henry’s fingers were sliding through the ends of her hair, the strands slippery soft against his skin.  “Do you believe me now?”

“I don’t know, Henry.”  

She lifted her head, shifted and propped herself up until she could look at him. He grunted when her elbow hit him in the gut, and that set them both giggling again before she looked into his eyes, searching his face for something.  Did she think he was suddenly going to look older, that she could see the years hidden on him somewhere?  

“I—I thought…”  She squinted at him, then sighed, dropping down until her chin rested on his chest, her eyes large as she looked at him.  “I just wanted you to talk to me.  You know?  I always thought, ‘why won’t he talk to me?’  Like I was doing something wrong.”

“You never did anything wrong, Jo.”  He smiled, shifting her hair back from her face.  She closed her eyes when he ran his fingers through it again.  “If I could have, I would have.  But this is…”  He let his hand drop away.  “I’ve told you, now, and it’s still impossible to believe.  Give me ten years, give me a sudden death, I can prove it to you.  But to sit, to talk?  Even photographs—the wizardry of technology now robs them of any real veracity.  It’s an impossible situation.”

Jo laid her head to the side, her ear to his chest, and he tipped his head forward to kiss the top of hers.

“I’m sorry, Henry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

It sounded more like _I don’t believe you_ to his ears, but her doubt was also mixed with the warmth of her body against his, the casual trust in her affection.

“You don’t have to believe me.”  She lifted her head again, her eyebrows together in confusion, and he smiled.  “Just don’t arrest me, and I’ll happily settle for whatever you think.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to arrest you.”

“Promise?” Much as he tried to hide it, a thrill of fear surfaced again.

She lost the smile, narrowing her eyes again, and then nodded, suddenly realizing this wasn’t a joke any longer.

“Yeah, I promise.  Henry, you’re safe.  With me, you’re safe, okay?  You don’t have to run from me.”

She lay back down against him, this time wedging in to get comfortable.  His eyes were burning, his whole body tingling with relief, because her promise—Jo’s promise—meant more than any other he could imagine.  

The world was not a safe place for him by any means.  He wasn’t fool enough, nor remotely drunk enough, to believe it could change its stripes, that sharing the truth could put a dent in that reality.  

But her promise—yes.  If she swore it, then he was safe in her care. At least he had one less person to fear in a world where everything was suspect. It wasn’t perfect.  It wasn’t belief, but it _was_ trust.  Give him time, he could prove it to her.  But so long as she was willing to give him the benefit of doubt, he could repay her for that faith with a little honesty.

He listened to her drift off, her body going limp as she fell into a deep sleep, and he kissed her head again.

His little world was unexpectedly bigger by one, and he couldn’t be more grateful.


End file.
